


Greener

by Neffectual



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/F, Girl!Axel, Girl!Roxas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxas has been told all her life that she’s ‘pretty’, but fuck pretty, fuck conforming to that standard when this girl is beside her, blue-grey oil paint holding her hair in a chaos of spikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greener

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thirteenthesiac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirteenthesiac/gifts).



Her nails were chipped and broken in the fresh light, and she hid her hands in her pockets, unwilling to seem damaged against such perfection. She had paint chips on her shoes and jeans that she’d never even seen before, her hair felt greasy and lank, over-gelled and over-worked so she had more time to paint and less time to shower. She wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t put oil paint in at some point, one late night with something on her hands, running them through. She wished she’d never even come. She was dirty, marked, coloured by every experience and every inch of fear she’d ever had, and she thought she had the right to touch this girl, pale and beautiful in the morning light, draped delicately in the latest fashions, neat and tidy, nails a delicate pink?

She felt so neutral, so stupidly plain and naive, as young as she was against this Amazonian body, long and slender, paint-streaked, bitten lips red and begging to be kissed. Roxas has been told all her life that she’s ‘pretty’, but fuck pretty, fuck conforming to that standard when this girl is beside her, blue-grey oil paint holding her hair in a chaos of spikes, tattoos peeking out from capped, ragged sleeves of an old band t-shirt, low-slung jeans dotted with paint, converse marked with the same shades. She was… she was imperfect in every way, from the long-limbed way she walked to the hair in her eyes, the smudge of pastels on her hands and cheeks, the trailing shoelace she tripped over. Roxas felt wrong, for the first time in her life, wrong to be such a good girl, seen as so right, so pure, so clean. She wanted to be like Axel, her history written on her in paint and wear and the bags under her eyes from late nights. It was like there was a whole world to discover, and she suddenly realised the one she had been living in was fake.

Axel wished she'd at least taken the time to wash her hands, to scrub some of the debris of paint from under her nails, wipe the pastels off her knuckles. She dug in her pockets for change for coffee, watching helplessly as Roxas tugged a wallet out of her bag and paid for both, waving off Axel's protestations with an easy smile and a wave of her soft hand. Axel wished she'd worn something nicer now, sitting down and staring at her mug, which her hands were even now staining blues and greens; wished she had bothered to find something which hid the tattoos, although little would hide those under her eyes, maybe put some make-up on, hell – have a shower. Why had she even thought that she could be worth of dating someone who wore white linen without a mark on it? She smeared the pastel debris around her mug with an idle thumb, refusing to look up.

She wondered if Axel even realised she was doing it, painting lines and swirls onto her mug with a practised thumb, marking out delicate lines which Roxas would never have been able to map, never have been able to contemplate. The swirls were the same shade as streaked that so-red hair – clearly last night, or perhaps the last week, had been busy. She asked, gently, whether it was a personal project, or a school one, and got a heated blush for her troubles, an embarrassed hand rubbing the back of a neck, leaving blue fingerprints behind an ear. Sort of both, she said, and Roxas smiled, knowing how that game was played, You started off with an assignment, and it became personal over time, or you worked on something personal which later turned out to fit just what the professors wanted. She tilted her head to one side, and considered whether or not Axel knew how beautiful she was.

This had been a bad idea, Axel decided, looking at the soft smile on Roxas' face, sweet and innocent, and moved her hands away from her mug, trying to rub her knuckles against her jeans, and merely ending up with damp paint on them for her troubles. Roxas was a musician, for fuck's sake, an untouchable piece of perfection wrapped up in piano and violin, soft hands arched and moving in learned patterns, a mile away from the jumble of hands she became when she painted. She went to get up, and stopped when the other girl put a hand on her wrist, unheeding of the oils there, or how grimy she must be. Her white sleeve rubbed Axel's knuckles, and the redhead drew back, wincing at the marks – and Roxas looked at them for a second, then laughed.

Pastel dust was smeared through blonde hair, shaking it out of the artful tousle it had been styled into as Roxas took Axel apart with her mouth, making her cry out in a noise which echoed off the canvasses dotted around the room. When the girl surfaced, she had blue fingerprints on her forehead and by her eyes, and Axel felt a small pang of guilt before she giggled, and left handprints on those slim hips, milk-pale and delicate under her larger hands. Roxas took a moment to mourn that there was no way for her to mark Axel in return, with music, before drawing the redhead into a sharp kiss, nipping at already-swollen lips, setting the pace. It would be a long time before either of them got any rest at all.

“Draw me.”   
“I don't think I could do you justice.”   
“Then paint me.”   
“There aren't enough colours in the world.”   
“Then touch me.”   
“That one... that one, I can do.”


End file.
